The Father of My Boys
by Nalbal
Summary: Thorin has always tried his best for his beloved nephews, but their father's warmth and light was irreplaceable. One sleepless night before the quest Thorin writes a fond letter to Jóli, reminiscing over old memories, and sharing all he has missed in the lives of his sons.
1. Chapter I

_**A/N:**_ _I started writing this story about two years ago and_ _ **completely**_ _forgot about it! During Finals' Week I was searching for an entirely different file on my laptop, and I found this story instead. Originally intended to be a one-shot, the total length was almost 6000 words and it was never completed! I have fallen in love with it once again and I cannot believe I never finished it. My intrepid little muse, The Blue Canary, has scolded me quite severely for this tragic oversight… So I'm editing and making additions to what I originally had and shall continue to work on it. (Psst! Don't worry;_ The Mark of Gideon _will still take priority.)_ _I shall go ahead and post what I have so far in a series of short installments, with more to come eventually. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _ **The Father of My Boys**_

* * *

Restless anxiety has rendered sleep impossible.

"Durin's _beard,_ " I mutter. A short, exasperated moan escapes me as I tear my blanket away and trudge wearily out of my room.

Like a befuddled bear I amble aimlessly around the house for several minutes, unsure what to do with myself. Eventually my heavy steps lead me to the fireplace where I fumble for my pipe left on the mantelpiece. I cradle it in my hands and pace before the dying fire as I attempt to light my tobacco. When I grow weary of treading the same piece of carpet I give up on my endless trek, and instead wander outdoors where I quietly idle on the front stoop to smoke.

Nights like this have become a semi-regular occurrence as the days before my scheduled departure slowly dwindle. Anticipation like agitated butterflies tickles and torments my insides when I try to sleep, plaguing me with persistent wakefulness and driving me from my bed. I cannot help it. Soon I shall travel north to meet with my cousin, Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, to seek his participation in our impending quest for Erebor. I dread the difficulties that will follow if he rejects my plea, but my hope is that he will see the vital importance of this opportunity—the chance of a lifetime, a chance to reclaim the home I have grieved as lost for decades, the stronghold that housed my people for centuries. For the first time since dragon-fire and ruin it feels within my reach.

With a thoughtful puff I send one smoke ring floating off into the darkness… then two… then three. Inhaling deeply I remove the pipe from between my teeth and sigh, watching as the smoke unfurls from my lips and dissipates into the warm air. _For the first time my promises to my sister-sons do not seem so empty._

Erebor is the legacy of my people _._ For too long we have lived as refugees in mountains that are not ours, exiled from our own. Too many do not remember the place we have come from, have all but forgotten the home of Durin's folk. Too many were born beneath alien stone. _Like my lads._

I rebuke myself for that last thought. Too _few_ were born… always too few. For all their longevity of years, dwarves bear children in too small a number to be called plentiful. Dwarflings are precious; their birthplace does not matter as long as they come.

 _And two of them are mine own kin._

With a small smile my brooding thoughts wander to my nephews, and a familiar sense of warmth brightens my heart. Fíli and Kíli are my pride and joy. They have grown strong and sturdy with the fire of Durin's blood in their veins; their eyes are sharp with the spirit of youth, their feet firm on the ground from years of training and experience. Both are as quick in wit and word as they are in sword and hammer, and I am honored to call them my sister-sons. They shall both accompany me on the quest, although at first I did not wish it so. It is not for lack of confidence in their abilities, but they are yet so young—especially Kíli, who burns bright in the passion of his youth, naïve and untempered in a manner that Fíli is not, and he maintains a worrisome streak of recklessness.

Balin made me see that it was without question Fíli, as my eldest nephew and heir, had an undeniable right and responsibility to be part of the journey. I realized I couldn't think to argue it, because it is part of his birthright as much as it is a part of mine. Eventually Fíli joined the dwarves on my private counsel where he was heartily welcomed, though my heart skipped a beat at the thought of him joining us in facing the dangers yet to come. Though fair of face amongst a group of wizened dwarves, he is sound of mind and wise beyond his years; despite myself I grew pleased with his presence.

But when the question came of his younger brother's role in this venture, I had been firmly opposed to his participation. Perhaps the presence of _one_ of my nephews was required, but in my mind it did not mean that _both_ had to be placed in such danger—and though it was by no means intended as a slight against Kíli's character or ability, I feared his impetuous nature would bring him to harm. The sense of over-protectiveness I've had for him ever since he was born reigned strong in my heart. Were it not for Fíli's stubborn persistence and artful arguments made in his brother's favor, perhaps I would never have changed my mind. I soon came to realize, however, that Fíli and Kíli a packaged deal as they have always been, and where one goes the other must follow. I relented—and Kíli signed the contract with the rest of the company. Though I still have my reservations, I must confess that on a selfish level I am grateful to have them both by my side.

Notwithstanding, I find myself wondering if I am doing right by bringing them along. Can it be called _good_ to take them on so perilous a journey, one with so uncertain an ending? What if they are hurt? Mahal forbid, what if one brother should perish? I do not know if the other could go on. And if they both…?

I chew on the end of my pipe as I resist the temptation to further agonize over these questions, ones I have asked of myself a thousand times already. It is folly to entertain such dark notions. My nephews are coming along and that is that. They are not children. They can take care of themselves, with or without my help. I cannot help but wonder, though, what their father would've said to that if he were here.

 _Would he be angry at me for so willfully putting his beloved sons into harm's way?_

I inhale too quickly and a copious amount of tobacco smoke assaults my windpipe. My eyes water and I cough roughly. These are questions I prefer not to consider. And yet…

 _And yet._

My thoughts now settle on Jóli, another fine dwarf laid to rest far before his time. Another family member lost… and what I would give that he was yet among us. I miss his company, and his counsel. Most importantly he left behind a wife and two small children who needed him. I have always been a poor substitute to his sons, though I have always tried my hardest to fulfill their needs as best I could. Oftentimes I've failed… quite miserably, in fact… but despite all my inadequacies I've only ever wanted them to be happy, to know that they are loved, _treasured,_ and that I would do anything to give them the lives they deserve.

And they are such good lads.

They are just like their father. Fíli especially inherited his appearance—the charismatic nose, the soft smile and gentle brow, his great mass of tawny hair—but he also has Jóli's silver-tongued talent with words. On the other hand, Kíli possesses much of Jóli's personality—the fierce temper, sharp wit, and dazzling charm—but his dark eyes, too, are of his father. Both have his good humor. How proud Jóli would have been, as proud as I am now if not more so, to see the kind-hearted dwarves and talented warriors his sons have become.

He would have been _so_ proud. Surely, even now; he would be proud that his sons are embarking on a quest to reclaim their homeland, so bravely and honorably. He would bless their efforts, if not mine.

 _I wish I could speak with Jóli one last time._

And as I wait for fatigue to claim me while I am embroiled in my thoughts, an idea comes to me, one so simple and yet comforting that I smile. I put out my pipe, rise to my feet, and go indoors in search of pen and paper.

* * *

 _ **To be continued…**_

* * *

 _A/N: Still editing the rest of it. Stay tuned for more!_


	2. Chapter II

The flame flickers, sputters uncertainly before blooming to full light. I dispose of the match and cast it aside as I pick up the candle, spilling a glowing pool into my desk drawer as I rummage inside. When I have found the parchment I set it down along with the candle and seat myself before it. I flip open the ink bottle and dip my quill into the black liquid, hesitating for only a moment before I begin to write.

 _Dear Jóli,_

 _My friend. How strange it is for me to be sitting here, writing a letter that can never be read nor even delivered. Your stout heart has long since ceased beating, your soul flown to the Halls of Mandos, and yet I am overcome by the compelling urge to speak with you one last time. As the eve of my departure grows nigh and all our lives are about to change, I feel I must write this in case I never get another chance. The truth is that I think of you often, more so than I would care to admit. It hurts most in those moments when Dís stares out the kitchen window, her eyes dulled in sad memory, or when Fíli looks suddenly lost and quite withdrawn. I would have done anything to prevent your passing and the gaping hole you left behind in your small family. There is so much that I would tell, so much I would have you know, and I can only hope that your spirit may somehow know of these things I cannot speak._

 _Before you came into my life I could not have imagined your presence being a welcome thing—but with you gone, it has been hard to imagine a future without you._

 _It is a funny thing, especially when I reflect on the intense animosity I once held for you. I won't mince words: from the moment you began to call on Dís, I hated your guts. I hated you, your intolerable smirk, and the laughter forever dancing in your dark eyes. Everything about you was all wrong. First of all, you were not one of my people. You came from a wholly different clan—the Ironfists, descendants of the Orocarni in the East. You were utterly foreign even in your appearance, from your wild golden mane to the strange tribal embroidering on your garb. I have never approved of the mixing of folk from separate clans; I'd always believed that even dwarves should stick to their own kind. I thought I could make you agree with that feeling, but of course you did not._

* * *

I see the dwarf loitering on the path in front of my home and already my skin prickles with irritation. Another day spent fruitlessly searching for work in the town of Men has left me weary to the bone; I have no interest in dealing with this sort of nuisance today.

Even from a distance I recognize him, for the bright hair gives him away. It's the young Ironfist warrior—whose name I've already forgotten—who drifted in about a month ago with some of his people. Oddly enough he chose to stay behind when they eventually moved on, but I care little for the whys and wherefores. All I know is when Dís began to bump into him more often than not in the village I came to suspect that it was not entirely due to chance. When I muscled my way between them during one of these convenient run-ins he had the nerve to brightly introduce himself to me, his manner full of charm and pleasantries. I shut down his pretty little speech with a few sharp words and forcibly pulled Dís away without a backward glance, thinking the matter closed.

Mahal, was I wrong. Not only was he entirely undeterred by my aggressiveness, he has become all the more persistent. Now he is everywhere I turn, not enough to be considered impolite but enough to drive me to distraction. I grit my teeth, square my shoulders, and approach him.

"Oi, you!" I bark at him, past caring about social graces. "What are you doing here?"

He turns in surprise and presents me with his most winning smile, full of sunshine and damnable good cheer.

"Lord Thorin!" he greets me amiably, bowing rather lower than is strictly necessary. "I bid you good day, sir. I was merely awaiting the arrival of your sister, Lady Dís. She expressed an interest in joining me for an evening stroll."

My glare intensifies. "Are you now, indeed? Well, you listen—what was your name?"

He blinks, unperturbed by my rudeness, but perhaps disappointed at having been so easily erased from my memory. "Jóli, at your service. Son of—"

"Yes, yes, never mind that," I interrupt impatiently, "Now you listen here, Jóli, and you listen carefully, because I do not care to repeat myself." I lean in close, my voice a low and menacing tone: "Clear out. Shove off. Do _not_ come around my home or my sister anymore. Do you understand me?"

"Perfectly," he replies calmly, "But I am afraid I cannot comply."

My eye twitches. "Oh?"

"Aye. Your sister has made it clear to me that my presence is welcome."

"It is most decidedly not," I rumble in a dangerous voice.

Jóli shakes his head. "I am sorry, Lord Thorin," he replies in that lilting eastern accent of his, "But I am afraid that is not your decision to make. I am familiar enough with your customs to know that Lady Dís has the right to see whomever she may choose. And as long as she will see me, I shall continue to pay her a visit."

Taken aback by his stubbornness, I draw myself to my full height and stare him down, becoming once more the Crown Prince of Erebor.

"Now I am warning you," I growl angrily, "If you persist in this unseemly behavior, it will be at the detriment of your own health, life, and limb."

He meets my furious gaze with a reticent one. His brown eyes, though still warm, seem to have taken a harder edge. The dwarf smiles, albeit grimly.

"I am fully aware of that, sir," he replies slowly, "But I am afraid I shall have to accept that risk. I will not overstep my boundaries, nor forget your station or hers. I shall be ever courteous… but I will not be intimidated."

Never has another dwarf spoken to me in this fashion, challenging my authority in this way yet with so much respect that he can _get away with it._

There is a tense pause. I look down my nose at him with disdain. "Bold as brass, aren't you?" I scoff.

He inclines his head. "I like to think so," he replies with a warm smile.

For fear I would pummel him on the spot I turn away sharply and stomp inside.

"Have a good evening!" he calls cheerfully.

I slam the door so hard the very rafters shudder.

* * *

 _ **To be continued…**_


	3. Chapter III

**Edit** **:** After some reflection I decided to post "chapters" as follows: a portion of Thorin's letter plus **one** flashback per installment. Following this decision, the original 4,000 word "Chapter II" has been broken into smaller segments and will now be posted as Chapters II, III, and IV.

* * *

 _Then there was your manner, which was too smooth and too elegant—too_ _ **everything**_ _that I was not—which immediately bred distrust in my heart. You were also too darn accommodating, something which seemed undwarvish to my taste. I tried to rile you, tried so very hard to needle you into saying something you shouldn't, just so I could have a concrete reason for despising you as much as I did. Dwarves universally have fierce tempers, even small ones, and we are often quick to take offense, so I could not understand why I could not force you to ire! The level of calm and self-control which you possessed was absolutely extraordinary. I was baffled… and it made me hate you all the more._

 _I swear that Dis loved you from the moment she set eyes on you. She would never admit it, of course, and she played the role of the disinterested damsel for as long as was deemed proper for one of her station. Regardless of her exile Dís is still one of royal blood, and in her eyes it would not do to appear too interested. But, oh, I saw the way her face would light up when you came to call, the smile I thought burned to ash in Erebor returning to grace her features. I was envious, nay; deeply jealous that this infuriatingly mild-mannered, utterly alien_ _dwarf had descended upon our lives and so easily stolen my baby sister's heart._

 _I despised you beyond description._

 _For every off-handed compliment that my little Dís mentioned of you, I answered in measure with scathing criticism. She often scolded me for my pettiness but I cared not: I had lost my kingdom, my grandfather, my father, and my dearly beloved little brother. In my mind there was no natural or supernatural force that could part me from the last cherished being that remained in my life. Dís had always been the shining jewel of our family, and I was the last one alive to take care of her. Most simply put, I love her… so when she first idly asked me if I thought you ought to come pay us a friendly visit, my response had been firm: "Over my dead body."_

 _That was only the beginning. I fought and raged with Dís over you time and time again. I told her you weren't good enough; she said you were too good. I called you soft; she called you dignified. I called you conniving; she called you clever. I said you were common; she said you were princely. When I finally laid down the law and strictly forbade her to see you I realized I had crossed the line: she hit me over the head with the nearest chair and loudly proclaimed her independence from my irrational possessiveness. I yet resisted. It took a few more battles of a similarly violent nature (and most of our kitchen furniture) for her to make any headway, but eventually I was forced to surrender. I grudgingly gave you consent to court her when you_ _ **so**_ _charmingly asked my permission. Inwardly I seethed but for the sake of my sister's happiness (and my own health) I decided to allow the relationship to continue, figuring that if I found a good enough excuse I could find a way to end it._

 _Despite my willful stubbornness and judgmental preconceptions, however, you began to win me over._

 _Your unassuming nature that had once irked me so tremendously slowly worked its magic. No matter how much I wanted to hold onto my hate, you gave me every reason to_ _ **like**_ _you. Kindness and generosity emanated from your every word and action, but you were not a flippant flatterer, and were honest where honesty was due. While it was soon made clear that you were no pushover, you were incredibly slow to anger and quick to forgive—especially where my treatment of you was concerned— and I began to feel ashamed of myself. An impressive power of observation and keen intuition, coupled with your ability to listen, resulted in such quiet words of wisdom that you often left me stunned, and you earned my respect._

 _And I learned that you were no stranger to grief and loss. One evening, while Dís left us to assemble dinner and we awkwardly shared a pipe by the fire, we drifted to the topic of war. You revealed that you had lost both of your elder brothers to the battlefield while you alone, at the tender age of thirty-five, had managed to survive the carnage. When I asked of your parents you said you were orphaned at a young age. As the wavering firelight revealed the rawness of pain in your eyes, I could not understand how one who had lost so much could love so freely, laugh so easily. For one who had seen so much death, you were so alive. The loss of my family, along with the burden of my people's suffering and the responsibilities of my lineage, had left me jaded and embittered, crippled by a pain I could not share. Where my soul was cold and frozen over, yours was warm and bubbling with passion._

* * *

I shake my head in quiet amazement. "For one who has lost so much, you have borne your scars well." I pause to puff my pipe back to life. "I am ever weighed down by my burdens," I mutter eventually, uncomfortable with even that much of an admission. It is an intimate thing to confess one's weakness and I only do so because Jóli has turned this into a very personal conversation. "It has not made me a very agreeable person."

Jóli actually chuckles at that, his customary bright smile erupting on his handsome face. "Ai, well, you have an excuse," he quips. "If I had hundreds of people at my doorstep constantly demanding decisions and direction, I would be far less agreeable than you. It'd probably end with me cracking, telling them to go to blazes or else fend for themselves and leave me in peace; goodness gracious. In my case—" Here he shrugs, smile slightly waning, "It's comparatively easy. The only responsibility I've got is to myself. Yours is a heavy burden to carry, Thorin Oakenshield," he says seriously, turning to gaze into the fire. "It is a thing I would never dare to underestimate."

I clench my pipe firmly between my teeth and regard the young Ironfist from beneath thoughtful brows. The more I come to know about this fellow the more bewildering I find his character. His personality exudes nothing but innocence and good cheer, with little to suggest in the way of the darker sort of worldly knowledge which he has experienced. My bafflement gets the better with me and the question has left my lips before I have really had a chance to think about it.

"How is it that you can go on as you have, with no anger or burning disappointment debilitating your daily life?"

He turns his head at that, expression calm and unchanged. "Who said I wasn't angry? Or disappointed? There is still rage. It has never left me."

I frown. "Perhaps. But it does not consume you."

Jóli shakes his head slowly, averting his eyes and settling deep into his chair as he stares into nothing. "It did, once. It possessed me body and soul, gnashed and tore me to shreds on the inside. It clawed inside my heart and slashed at its wounds so that it never stopped bleeding. I was in perpetual agony."

"Yet not anymore?"

"Oh, it comes and goes, like a wounded animal that crawls after its prey on its belly, striking wildly in its blind fury. Sometimes it lingers like ingested poison, leaving me weak and hurting, sick on the inside. But I always bounce back. I reapply the salve and bandages on my heart and move on."

He makes it sound so maddeningly simple that I envy him for it. I do not know what possesses me to pursue this turn of conversation so doggedly, perchance prying into things I should not, but I so desperately want to know—I want to understand this thing Jóli possesses that has eluded me.

"How _can_ you?" I demand in a quiet, rough voice. "How can you continue forward after such… great personal injuries?"

If he is offended by the directness of the question he does not show it. Jóli simply turns and fixes me with a dark-eyed stare of great intensity. "It's simple," he answers solemnly. "Because I don't have much of a choice. Either I spend the rest of my days in anguish or I live life to the fullest as much as I can."

My frown deepens. "What gives you a reason for living?" I murmur.

"Life, Thorin." He sighs deeply. "That is the reason: life itself. I do not know why everyone else in my family died, but I know that I was not spared to wile it away feeling sorry for myself or questioning a higher power. If for nothing else, I have a duty to those who lost their lives to live mine to the fullest. Life is a gift; once lost it can never be retrieved. It would be a sin to throw mine away when others would've done anything to have a second chance. And so I keep it… and I go on."

I say no more. He has given me much to think about. Jóli, however, is not finished. He pauses long enough to refill his pipe with tobacco and relight it before he continues.

"You wonder why I am happy, Thorin," he says bluntly. "You cannot bring yourself to say it just like that, but I know that is the question that burns in your mind." And he turns that dark, soulful stare on me once more and it is all I can do to maintain my thoughtful frown, unchanged. "As I said, I've never had such responsibilities as yours thrust so roughly upon me." He crosses his legs and gazes at me steadily. "I haven't had anyone rely on me for anything in decades, and the freedom allowed me to battle my ghosts uninterrupted for a long time. But part of my joy in life has always been in bringing joy to others… and with no one left at home to comfort, I've had to seek out everyone and anyone around me. And there you have it. That is my secret, Thorin. I find my happiness in bringing joy to others, because all too often I cannot find it within myself."

With that last statement a heavy, contemplative silence falls between us. Minutes pass as thick tobacco smoke fills the air, and it is then a small smile tweaks the corners of my lips as something finally becomes clear to me.

"And that is why you… why you like Dís," I say. "Because in bringing _her_ joy, you discovered that she is the one who causes you to find that feeling in _yourself_."

Jóli turns to me, appearing briefly startled. Then a gentle smile grows on his face as he continues to smoke his pipe, and he does not answer.

It is enough.

* * *

 _ **To be continued…**_


	4. Chapter IV

_I also came to learn that this gentleness you exuded could be belied by the fiercest of fury… and any remaining doubt I'd held concerning your mettle was promptly stomped out. For one whose calm was nothing short of miraculous, a fire of unequivocally fearsome anger burned brightly in your eyes when others challenged your hold on Dís._

 _When the news began to spread that my little sister was spending so much of her time with you, I was unsurprised when old suitors began to reappear and desperately try their hand once last time. She'd had many a bachelor come to call long before you appeared on the scene, but Dís, still young at heart and too preoccupied with the needs of our people, would have no one. That is, no one until you came along. And this sudden interest in a stranger kindled hope in the hearts of many, causing them to believe that perhaps Dís was finally warming up to the idea of marriage. Their renewed attentions did not bother me too much, for I knew my sister could take care of herself and had no intention of making any of their dreams come true._

 _You, on the other hand, were incensed._

* * *

"What in the name of—How dare they!" Jóli regards the growing collections of flowers and tokens on Dís' side table with an uncharacteristic expression of disgust. "This is grossly improper!"

"It is most certainly not," Dís retorts, tutting at him as he plucks a cornflower from a particularly clumsy bouquet and crushes it in his fist. "Such a thing is common among Longbeards. I think it rather sweet, if a little sad."

I chuckle quietly, watching with fascination as Jóli's state of jealous upset continues to grow. "It's downright tragic, little sister," I insert with mock sympathy, "The number of hearts you must break all over again."

Dís laughs at that, but Jóli does not. He snatches up a large brass locket and glares at it as though it has done him some personal injury.

"Carrion-fowls, wolves, the lot of them," he hisses, accent growing noticeably heavy on his tongue. "Pompous ingrates, drooling all over themselves; why, I ought to—"

"Have care of how you speak of my neighbors, sir," I interrupt sharply. "They are within their rights. They are but checking their chances one last time with the most eligible of young dams hereabouts, and you are the outsider, not them."

Jóli snaps his head my way. "Oh, is that so?" He cries, tossing the locket onto the table and taking a step towards me. "Well, I care not. I'll show you just how _little_ I care if any of them pushes further than he should!" The dwarf is almost yelling now, shoulders quaking in vexation. "Dís has made her intentions quite clear, and if they cannot respect that—"

"Now-now, calm yourself, Jóli," Dís soothes, swiftly stepping between us and placing both her hands on his heaving chest. "This will not do. Hush this stuff and nonsense and pull yourself together."

As soon as he looks down at her all the anger melts from Jóli's face like ice under fire, disappearing like it never was. Instead, he frowns worriedly and fixes her with a look of such piteous distress that I almost feel sorry for him.

"I don't _like_ this, Dís," he insists, voice still gruff, but with a distinctively plaintive undertone.

She smiles and taps him on his nose. "You don't have to, but neither do you need to let it rile you so." And she wraps her arms around his waist.

I harrumph to remind them both I am still here. Jóli only frowns at me as he firmly envelopes my sister into his arms, obviously in a challenge, though I find his expression rather reminiscent of a disgruntled puppy.

"Mark my words," he grumbles. "If anyone steps out of line, I shall be a force to be reckoned with."

* * *

 _Of course, when an overtly besotted dwarf all but begged Dís on his knees to reconsider his proposal, things went too far. Good judgment temporarily blinded by your arrival on the scene, he clutched at her skirts, stumbled to his feet, grabbed her arm in a fit of passionate demand—and sealed his fate. Before I could so much as blink, let alone move to abandon my watchful post from my window, you had already taken three enormous strides and struck the offender down with a lion-like roar of outrage. A short and bloody scuffle ensued—one from which you emerged absolutely unscathed and completely victorious. That day it was made clear that there would be no more suitors welcome._

 _Dís flew to your arms. When I saw her dazzled, adoring expression reflected in your eyes, I knew that hers was not the only heart to have been stolen. She had yours right in the palm of her small hand._

 _It was then I finally realized that you were her One._

* * *

 _ **To be continued…**_

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ _Now that I have this formatted to my liking, I will continue posting more installments gradually. Also, I would really appreciate it if you would take moment to leave me and the little muse a review!_


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